


Winterfell

by casstayinmyass



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: And So Are Sansa and Petyr Apparently, Badass Sansa, Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, F/M, Feels, Gentle Sex, Healing Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jon Snow knows nothing, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Post-Season/Series 06 Finale, Sansa's Inner Monologue, Semi-Public Sex, Trust Issues, Vaginal Sex, Winterfell, winter is coming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 07:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7747747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter is here, and after declaring for house Stark, Petyr has decided to wait out the storms at Winterfell. Now on the small council of the King in the North, he will be spending a lot of time in the chilly castle, and although the snows of winter hold no candle to Sansa Stark's frozen heart, Petyr knows his way in. He is determined to show her how gentle a lover can be, but first he must put Sansa back together after Ramsay- and rekindle their trust in a way only Petyr could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> *Sung to the tune of Two and a Half Men* Smut smut smut smut smutty smut smut
> 
> How I'd like/envision the first scene in Winterfell to be S7. Oh, and Jon continues to know nothing.

Sansa sat alone in her chambers, letting the hot water part for her fingers. The bath had been filled with the finest fragrant oils to be found in the North, and the smell of the warm steam rising brought her back to her childhood, and how she would spend hours on end soaking, feeling like a pampered little princess, until Arya harassed her into coming out to play. Dipping her long legs in and sitting down, she let out a contented sigh. She hadn't had a bath this nice since...

Sansa shuddered. The night of her wedding. That bath was the last evening she had had with her innocence, before it had been snatched from her that very night. Now that is was gone, she couldn't say she missed it; what she did miss was the simpler times that had gone with it. Now, there was so much on her mind- Jon's unofficial coronation, her new position on her brother's council, and of course, the _other_ members of her brother's council, or one who was particularly vexing to her.

 She sighed, recalling the look of utter remorse on his face when she told him what she had endured. The sheer guilt he had displayed through his words and attempt to explain himself in Molestown haunted Sansa, continuing to confuse her as she debated his true intentions. She had eventually reached the conclusion that nobody would ever truly know Littlefinger's intentions. But Petyr... _Petyr_ was a different story- stripped of his secrets and his plots, he was just a man, and at the end of the day, valar morghulis.

Perhaps she had him wrapped around her fingers. Perhaps he had a hidden agenda; the latter was certainly more plausible, but she could only dream of holding such power over a man so dangerous. She seemed to be the only one in Winterfell who didn't underestimate Littlefinger, aside from maybe Brienne.

Leaning back and taking a deep breath of the soothing aromas of pine and blue winter rose, Sansa relaxed further into the tub. Tonight wasn't a night to think so deeply- tonight was a celebration, of the King in North. Jon deserved the honor- no doubt.

_But so do I._

Sansa wondered what would have come of her if she hadn't swallowed her pride and sent for Petyr's aid- if Jon had been slaughtered, as he most likely would have been without reinforcement, would she have ended up back in Ramsay's clutches? She closed her eyes. She didn't want to think of that. She didn't want to _think_ at all.

Her slender index finger reached down into the water, creating a little whirlpool by spinning it around. Idly, her fingers dragged up her naked torso, up to cup her pale right breast... but she immediately stopped, dropping her hand again. She couldn't bear to even so much as recreate an intimate touch. Not so soon after being raped every night and tortured every day by a monster that kept her locked in this very room. Perhaps she would accept Jon's proposal after all to give her their parents' old room... just being in here made her feel faintly ill.

Suddenly, she was awakened from her ponders by three gentle knocks to the door. She turned, peering back at it.

"Brienne?" she asked, making no move to get out of the tub. There was a pause, which made Sansa apprehensive- usually, Brienne's knocks were forceful and short, so she was almost certain she wouldn't hear her faithful protector's voice. Her suspicions were confirmed when she heard it.

"No."

She would know that particular voice anywhere- and she knew she didn't want to hear it tonight.

"Leave me alone." Another pause.

"My Lady... a few moments, at most." Sansa blinked, exhaling. "I beg of you."

She knew she shouldn't, but she also wasn't in the right mind to make good decisions that night. "Give me a moment," she said tiredly. She rose reluctantly from her haven of sweet leisure, drying herself off, and slipped into a blue robe, icy blue as the rose petals floating in her now abandoned tub. At this point, she couldn't care less what Petyr saw of her... or, what anyone saw of her, at that. "Alright." The door opened slowly, and in stepped Petyr. He had discarded the black cloak Sansa had seen him in earlier that day in the Godswood, left now in his black frock robe. She noticed his silver mockingbird pin, stark against his black clothing, ever present.

"Forgive me..." Petyr said softly, averting his eyes, "If you were bathing, I can return tomorrow."

"No," Sansa said simply, "You'll speak with me now, this is as good a time as ever." Petyr nodded slowly, eyes slowly climbing to meet hers.

"Shall I close the d-"

"Leave it open, Lord Baelish, you won't be staying long." Petyr's eyes closed, and he looked down, but Sansa couldn't bring herself to pity his position... not just yet. "Why did you come here?"

"We spoke in the Godswood earlier-"

"Yes, I recall that all too well, was my reaction today altogether so unsatisfying for you that we had to meet again?"

Petyr stared at her. "If you would allow me speak, my lady..."

"Why should I?" Sansa replied with venom, unable to stop herself from unloading, "Why should I even allow you to _see_ me, after what you did?! It might as well have been you kicking open my legs and watching me bleed!" She stopped herself, exhaling. "I'm... _so_ sorry, Lord Baelish, that wasn't fair. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be back at Winterfell, or even alive for that matter. Or perhaps I would, only... under less than desirable circumstances."

"Less than desirable?" Petyr repeated, "Sansa... what Ramsay did to you... I don't wish to make light of. You were at the mercy of a terrible man all because of a terrible misjudgment  _I_ made. Until the end of my days, I will live with that truth and regret it." Sansa looked down. "But you never have to experience something like that again."

"How do you know?" Sansa asked, sighing. Petyr smiled sadly.

"I don't, of course. But when I declared for your house, I didn't just do it for your brother... I did it for you, my love." His endearment perplexed Sansa even more. Bringing her hands to her temples and rubbing, Sansa let out a frustrated noise and sat down on the edge of her bed.

"Why?"

"You know why," he muttered, blinking down at her. Sansa looked at him.

"What, you want to marry me, do you? You want to wed me, bed me, get an heir in me like the rest of them? I must warn you, Lord Baelish, I'm definitely not as desirable where a husband wants his wife most anymore, Ramsay saw to that-" Petyr hushed her, walking over to her and sitting next to her, placing a hand on hers.

"That's not what I want, sweet girl."

"Don't touch me," she tried, struggling with him for a moment, but Petyr gripped her wrist.

"Sansa... Sansa, shh," he whispered, and she eventually broke, falling into his embrace and crying into his chest. Taking a deep breath, Petyr held her close and let her stay as long as she needed. Her chest heaved with every labored breath she drew in, words spilling from her lips to the only person that had truly been there for her since her adolescence.

"Petyr... what he did to me, I can't... I can't ever forget," she sobbed, tears falling down her cheeks, "It was so horrible, all of it. He took me every single night without fail, some nights more than once, and he made me do things... things not even whores would do." After a few more silent moments of comfort, Sansa righted herself. "I-I'm sorry, my lord. You didn't need to hear that, it was inappropriate for me to speak of such things with you."

"Never apologize," Petyr told her seriously, "You have nothing to apologize for to anyone, Sansa. Especially not me." Sansa sniffed, wiping her eyes. "Besides," Petyr added gently, wiping a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb, "I've seen you grow from a child. There's no need to hold back in front of me." Sansa nodded, looking away.

"It's strange... I want to be angry at you. I want to hate you so badly, Lord Baelish. It's just... it's more complicated than that."

"How so?" Petyr asked, "I wouldn't blame you for hating me."

"What you said... about the iron throne, your... "picture"," Sansa said, swallowing, "The idea of ruling alongside you, it excited me..." she traced over the direwolf pattern she had sewn into the arm of her silk robe, "And that frightens me."

"You would make a fine queen," Petyr said, "I've known that since the day I met you. Beautiful, fair, smart... all qualities of a historically successful ruler. But to climb to the top of the ladder, first we must have all the pieces to get there. The North is one of them."

"The North belongs to Jon," Sansa muttered.

"Does it?" Petyr asked, and Sansa frowned.

"Why did you want to see me, Lord Baelish?"

Petyr smiled. "How many times do I have to ask you to call me Petyr?" he asked, and Sansa allowed herself a smile as well, the familiarity of his request comforting. She felt his hand on her face, and turned to look at him. "I'm so proud of how strong you've become," he whispered. Sansa gazed at him, sobering up again.

"Part of your plan to get the throne was to marry me, was it not? When were you going to implement that? After you coerced me and charmed me back to your side?" Petyr didn't respond immediately, so she went on. "I would be forced to accept, I'm sure, if you did ask for my hand. Gods know none of the men fighting for my brother would listen to me without a powerful husband to support my claims."

"You know I would never force you into anything against your will, Sansa. Besides, with the trauma you've gone through recently, I couldn't imagine subjecting you to anything similar anytime soon."

"You're not Ramsay."

"No," Petyr agreed, "I'm not Ramsay." Sansa looked at him.

"I should have refused the marriage. I don't know what coupling is supposed to feel like, but I'm not a fool. I know it shouldn't feel like that." Petyr was quiet as she continued. "There's so little trust left in me, I can't imagine any pleasure in my future. I'm almost sad for my next husband. But the thing is, I don't want to be apologetic anymore. I want to feel what it's like to be held by someone who didn't murder my family, or someone who doesn't want to flay me."

"Perhaps I can show you what that's like, then," Petyr whispered, barely audible, and once again, he leaned in... this time, Sansa didn't push him away. She felt his lips close over hers like they had when she was younger, her head swirling with a thousand thoughts, protests, words of encouragement. One quality in Petyr's kisses was how gentle they always were, filled with a deep longing- something told Sansa he would never hurt her. He drew back.

"Sansa..." he said, seemingly disconcerted, "I shouldn't have done that, my lady. You are vulnerable, and I did not intend to take advantage of you." He rose, turning to walk out the door that had been left open. Sansa was about to let him go- but she didn't. She couldn't, not after that.

"Petyr," she called, and he turned back to her. Striding forward, Sansa finally kissed him back- after all these years, she was finally the one to initiate it, and she relished in how powerful it made her feel. When she opened her eyes again, she realized Petyr's eyes had been open the entire kiss, watching her closely. He seemed apprehensive, almost as if he didn't truly believe that this is what she meant to seek out. Maybe it wasn't- Sansa didn't know, and she didn't care. All she needed was someone to show her that sharing her body didn't have to be bad... she needed someone to heal all those wounds, all those scars it pained her so to touch.

"Touch me, Petyr," she whispered again, but the Lord Protector of the Vale leaned out of her touch.

"Sansa, you don't want this."

"What do you presume to know of what I want?" Sansa asked sharply, "I could want you dead, for all you know. I think I do. But that's not what I want _tonight_."

"Sansa," Petyr tried again, eyes closing then opening again, "I made a mistake by kissing you. Nothing would bring me greater pleasure than... than _laying_ with you, you can't even begin to contemplate how happy that would make me. But I'm guilt-ridden as it is." Sansa stared at the lithe man before her, wondering if he was right. He had been right about so many things before, perhaps he was rightfully warning against something she would regret come the next morning. But she knew what she wanted. And now that she was, essentially, the Queen in the North, if only a title exercised by herself and Petyr, she would get what she wanted.

"I do recall you swearing fealty to House Stark," Sansa mentioned, a hint of mischief in her voice, "Shall I inform his grace, my brother, that your declaration has been withdrawn?" Petyr was visibly conflicted.

"You know I'd do anything to serve you, my Lady. I simply..."

"What? You think I'm still that stupid little girl, who doesn't know what I want?"

"I didn't-"

"I _know_ what I want, Petyr. I want the North, maybe I even want the fucking throne one day, and gods help me, I want you too." Hearing her say that... hearing the honorable Sansa Stark speak that way sealed the deal for Petyr; he was gone. "Take me to bed," she whispered, and Petyr complied, leading her back to the soft structure that had been covered in the softest furs Winterfell had to offer. Once Sansa reached the bed, she turned around, bending over so that her head was resting on the bed and her back was arched for Petyr- she was confused when he eased her out of that position.

"I want to see you," Petyr murmured, stroking her arm, "I want you to see me."

"But... how will it work..?" she asked, frowning.

"That's not the only way to do it, Sansa," Petyr told her, "It's more intimate, less _animalistic_ this way." He attempted to show her a different position, and when she went to lie on her back, Petyr stopped her once again.

"Perhaps it would be best for the time being for you to be the one on top. That way, you can have complete control over our pace, and it's far less intimidating." Sansa was grateful for Petyr's suggestion, and let him take her place on the bed. She got on top of him, straddling his hips, and she could already feel the bulge in his pants... she wanted to feel more of him. Slowly untying his breeches, she made sure her pace was incredibly drawn out, as it seemed to be driving Petyr wild. Good... he deserved a little torture. Opening each button, she took his shirt off- to find a scar running up his body from his navel to his collarbone. Tracing it with her fingers, she felt Petyr's eyes on her. She knew the story, of course... but she was unaffected by it.

His hands reached up, brushing her loosening robe off of her shoulders and watching with hungry eyes as her breasts came into view. His gaze travelled down her milky white skin to the sharp curve of her hipbones, the light dusting of red curls over her most intimate parts.

"You're perfect," he rasped, and Sansa blushed under the scrutiny. She never imagined it would be like this- this gentle, sweet act. Maybe she did when she was young, when she used to dream of Joffrey sweeping her off of her feet and having his babies (before she knew how, exactly, how that worked), but since then, every fairytale she had once believed in had been crushed- destroyed, by reality. Petyr was no knight in shining armour, like Loras might have been... but he, no doubt, saved her from the hell that was her life. For a time when she was younger, she believed she owed him those kisses and displays of affection for that reason alone... since then, she had developed a very real attraction to the man under her, realizing that she could be her own knight in shining armour while still remaining the princess in question.

"Slowly now... that's it," Petyr coached her, guiding her slowly to sheath his length. Before she could fully seat herself, he paused. "Are you sure you wish to go through with this? I could impregnate you."

Sansa gave a sort of shrug. "If ever I was to bear your child, we could pass it off as Ramsay's. At least, until further plans are made." Petyr raised an eyebrow, a smirk growing. He had trained her well in the art of deception.

"Now... where were we?" Sansa breathed, and, with a nervous look, she prepared to experience the same pain as she had before. Upon easing Petyr's cock inside of her though, she felt something entirely different. Her eyes rolled back a little as her ass finally touched his hip bones- this is nothing like what Ramsay felt like inside of her. Ramsay was rough, selfish, and unrelenting- this was so different it shocked her. Petyr simply moved his hands down to rest on her thighs, gently beginning to roll his hips upward. Immediately upon the first careful thrust, Sansa panicked. Petyr stopped at once, gazing up at her to gauge her reaction.

"Say the word, and we'll stop," Petyr told her, "I won't be angry with you." Sansa shook her head.

"No, I want you. Please, do that again." Again, Petyr complied, and rolled his hips again the other way. Sansa gasped, covering her mouth with one hand and pressing down on Petyr's chest with the other. "I never knew it could... feel this good. What's that you're- oh!"

"You learn interesting things over the years of being a brothel keep," Petyr smiled, practicing a move he had taught many of his girls- and guys- in the past.

"Would I do well in your brothels?" Sansa asked, that tone of mischief back. Petyr was surprised by the question. "Am I dirty enough to be one of your ladies of the night? I bet I would get you a lot of money."

"I wager you would," Petyr chuckled, "Though I would be insufferably jealous. I'd want you all to myself." Sansa tsk'd.

" You can't afford petty infatuation, Lord Baelish. I thought you were good at what you do," she admonished playfully. Petyr sucked in a sharp breath as she clenched around him.

"What I _did_ ," he corrected, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and biting down hard.

"Oh, that's right... you've left that behind, have you? To pursue greater ambitions?"

"I'm an ambitious man," Petyr grinned.

"Who's set his sights on the princess of Winterfell."

"My sights were always set on you, my love."

"I thought you loved my mother." Petyr blinked up at her through his lashes.

"Desires change."

"More like adapt."

"Yes... that too." Sansa moaned as she continued to gyrate into his thrusts, and Petyr watched as she brought a cautious hand down to rub herself. He could tell it was hard for her to do, and it suddenly dawned on him even more how strong she really was.

"You're being so brave, Sansa," Petyr said in a low voice, "You're doing so, so well."

"I'm glad you think so," Sansa mumbled, getting lost in the sensations, "Consider the compliment returned." Petyr reached up, batting her hand away and taking over her act of self-pleasuring. Feeling Petyr's fingers rubbing her so well sent her breathing heavily, stomach tightening as she felt every nerve in her body spark, a wave of unimaginable pleasure overtaking her.

"Is that... is this s-supposed to be... ah! This int-tense?" she asked, an endearingly terrified look on her face, and Petyr nodded with a reassuring smile.

"Let it happen, my sweet... give in to it." Taking his advice, Sansa arched her back and pushed down even further, causing Petyr to buck up his hips and climax as well. Their hushed moans faded into steady breaths as Sansa rolled off of him into Petyr's arms. He cradled her close, eyes half lidded and drowsy.

"If you need someone to hold you, I will hold you," he whispered to her, "Until the sun rises over this castle, I'll hold you." Sansa almost cried. She had finally found what she needed in Petyr, and she sent a desperate prayer to the seven that begged him not to be using her as a pawn. Opening her eyes and staring at him, she wondered if she was too trusting. That was the faults of all her family, was it not? Too honourable, too vested in their ways... but Sansa knew how to adapt, and if she had to adapt to be with Petyr, she didn't mind.

Their heavy breathing was silenced as they heard footsteps down the hall, and Sansa's heart stopped as she heard knocking... If it was her handmaiden, it would be alright with a clever explanation. Brienne, she would see Petyr's head on spike after the Bolton ordeal anyway, so it was best not to give her a reason to see it done, and Jon...

"Who is it?" Sansa called.

"S'me," Jon said, "Can I come in?"

"Uh, no! No, I'm... still bathing." She heard him chuckle.

"You haven't changed one bit, you know that? I remember when you would take hour long baths, refusing to get out until your skin was wrinkly as Septa Mordane's." Sansa smiled, and called back,

"I'll see you at breakfast. Leave me to my wrinkles, _your grace_ \- I'll speak to you when I'm less naked."

"Ah, y-yes, of course Sansa," Jon stuttered, and Sansa heard him bang into something and curse, "Yeah, I'll- ow- see you in the morning then, enjoy your, uh, your girly bath." Jon was gone in a second, and Sansa rolled her eyes over to Petyr.

"He really knows nothing." Petyr smiled back, kissing her again.

"It's been a long day. I should return to my chambers, before Lady Brienne offers to drain your bath and discovers me." 

"Stay," Sansa said, "I want to feel your arms around me, just tonight."

"Only tonight?" Petyr teased.

"As long as you stay here. I want you to teach me more."

"Like what?"

"Oh, I've some ideas."

Both fell asleep, at peace with any mistakes or wrongdoings at last and in blissful anticipation of the many days of _education_ to come.


End file.
